Hope is the Thing with Feathers

I don’t have much use for New Year’s except that it serves as a marker, a way to pinpoint when certain events happened in my life. Several months after New Year’s 2002, I had a breakdown. As I mention here in more detail, it was more like a nervous breakdown coupled with clinical depression and, aside from my parents’ messy divorce, it was the darkest time in my life.

I slept a lot during that time. Fortunately for me, when I’m truly upset, I get the opposite of insomnia. Those days I often cried myself to sleep and would get out of bed only to shower and go to work. There were many times when I wished I wouldn’t wake up at all.

Obviously, those wishes never came true. Somewhere along the line I found hope again, cheesy and cliche though that may sound. It was a long, slow, arduous process riddled with visits to the shrink, but eventually I found people who dragged me out of my sad, pathetic existence and reminded me who I really was, who I really am — smart, funny, cute, strong and independent with really good hair. 😉

Nearly eight years later, hope still exists. Hope is the reason I wake up every day. Hope is the reason I want to wake up every day.

I hope that I’ll have more days of spooning with my husband, feeling his warm belly on my back and his hand wrapped around my forearm.

I hope that I’ll have more nights in a tent under a humid, starry sky with millions of insects screaming just for me.

I hope that I’ll see each and every one of my nieces and nephews — five of them all age 5 and under at the moment — grow up to find their own hope and happiness.

I hope that I’ll once again swim in a clear blue ocean and view the wide, wonderful world under the water.

I hope that I’ll get the opportunity to have cocktails and reminisce with my friends who live far away.

I hope that I’ll get the opportunity to make more new friends in the community in which I now reside.

I hope that I’ll be able to laugh until I cry at least once a week.

I hope that I’ll have plenty more date nights with my husband, devouring an extra spicy falafel sandwich or slurping a bowl of miso soup while he makes me giggle over corny jokes.

I hope that I’ll get the chance to see the final season of “Lost.”

I hope that I’ll be able to make it to Yellowstone, Glacier National Park and Carlsbad Caverns.

I hope that I’ll finally learn how to finely chop an onion without using any fancy doohickeys.

I hope that I’ll get to see my first opera at Teatro alla Scala.

I hope that my husband and I will buy used bicycles and a canoe by this summer so we can cruise the local trails and bodies of water.

I hope that I’ll have a chance to meet Dolly Parton.

I hope I’ll be able to overcome my fear of frying.

There’s a lot more hope where all that came from, more than enough reasons to keep waking up every day. I know the depression will sneak in again, but I also know it will sneak out — that’s  just one of the many lessons hope has taught me.

Filed under: Awakenings by Kate
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